


Room For One More Troubled Soul

by Anetka



Category: Snowpiercer (2013)
Genre: Aroace Curtis is so important to me, Aromantic Asexual Curtis Everett, Aromantic Character, Asexual Character, Introspection, Sex-Repulsed Character, Unrequited Crush, literally only two words of actual dialogue, romance-repulsed character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-12
Updated: 2015-12-12
Packaged: 2018-05-06 06:50:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5407103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anetka/pseuds/Anetka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Curtis couldn't give Edgar what he wanted.  So he gave him everything else.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Room For One More Troubled Soul

**Author's Note:**

> Asexuality and aromanticism are spectrums. Similarly, sex-repulsion and romance-repulsion come in different forms. Different people experience them different ways. My interpretation of Curtis's orientations are not intended to represent the entirety of those spectrums.

Curtis waited desperately for someone else to catch the kid's attention. It was some twisted joke that the kid's hormones zeroed in on him.

Edgar had terrified him since he first crawled to Curtis and looked at him with those wide innocent eyes that seemed to peer straight into his soul. He was sure the kid would somehow read there what he had done. Rather than hate or fear him the kid idolized him. He trailed him up and down the length of the car, as constant as his own shadow.

Curtis could never be completely comfortable with Edgar's fixation on him, but he grew accustomed to it, at least.

But now the hero-worship of Edgar's youth had sharpened and warmed and become something else entirely. He did his best to ignore blushes and lingering glances, but he couldn't help how he tensed up at friendly touches and avoided looking into Edgar's eyes as much as possible.

Now every time their eyes met it was like _he_ was seeing into _Edgar's_ soul.

There was no true solitude on the train. What little fabricated semblance of privacy he managed to create in his mind was fleeting. Edgar never left him alone for long.

Before the horrifying revelation that he was the object of Edgar's affections Curtis had truly believed that he would give anything to make that kid's existence less miserable. It was the least he could do to repay him for the life he'd tried to take from him. To repay the mother who had died trying to protect him.

Of course, he had never accounted for this possibility. Sex existed on the fringes of his life. It was impossible to avoid it entirely when there was so little privacy to be had, but it was just something that other passengers did. Something he knew about but that didn't interest him. It kind of repelled him, actually.

As for love, Curtis felt a certain affection for his fellow passengers. He was genuinely glad for those who found happiness together in these miserable conditions. He was less pleased by the significant looks or admonishments to find himself someone to hold in his two strong arms. Older passengers, unasked, assured him that a handsome man like him could find someone if he wanted.

Curtis wanted to take over the train.

He had promised himself he would do his best to care for Edgar but _care_ is all he has. There's never been a moment when he wanted to kiss someone, fuck them or just wrap them in his arms and hold them through the night like the older couples do.

Now that he thinks about it, the idea of someone expressing those sort of feelings for him makes him feel sick and jittery.

He knows without a doubt that he can't give Edgar what he wants. He couldn't begin to explain how it would be giving up a part of himself, and he _can't_ , not for someone else, no more than he could give up his arm all those years ago.

Not even for Edgar.

Curtis freezes him out. He feels sick enough with the guilt and pain and absolute fury at his own helplessness. He channels all of his energy into plotting. He spends hours in his bunk dissecting and analyzing everything he knows about the McGregor riot, working back to the smaller earlier protests that were ruthlessly stomped out. The others send him worried looks but leave him be. A person's bunk is the closest thing each of them has to property. It is an unwritten rule on the train that you don't intrude on that small private space without invitation.

Weeks pass. When Curtis does speak to anyone it is to get information to fill the gaps in his knowledge. He rebuffs Edgar's attempts to communicate. Some of the passengers' worried looks turn to reproach. Curtis ignores them.

He knows it hurts Edgar, but Curtis doesn't know how to help him without hurting himself in the process. For the first time in years Curtis prioritizes his own pain before Edgar's.

Word gets around the car that Curtis is cooking something up. When Edgar demands to be let in on the rebellion-because it has to be a rebellion-Curtis has his mouth open already to tell him he's too young. It's too dangerous and he won't let Edgar risk his life.

But that's the whole point, isn't it? The tail section isn't life, it's survival. He's going to take the train to make sure life is worth living for everyone. He can't give Edgar the childhood he missed out on. He can't give him the world outside he never got to experience. All they have is the train. But the train could be better. He could make it better.

"All right," he says instead. The surprise on Edgar's face is quickly wiped away by his grin.

They talk more in the next few days than they have in months. Unlike their previous routine it is now Edgar who listens more often than not as Curtis goes over every detail that he has gleaned. Edgar throws himself into the plot with all the energy and passion of a disaffected youth.

Edgar is by his side more often than not, now. The discomfiting heat is still there in his eyes but being second-in-command of their rebellion has redirected the brunt of his desire toward freedom. Curtis doesn't flinch now when Edgar claps a hand on his shoulder or bumps Curtis's elbow with his own to get his attention. They are the familiar touches of a fellow rebel and brother-in-arms, not the alarming caresses of a would-be lover, and Curtis finds he's okay with this.

Curtis can give him this.


End file.
